The only thing you've ever given up on
by Cranberriez
Summary: Seriously, there should be a 'Matthew Bellamy' genre that I can tag all my stories in :P this one's very cute, about first love with the wonderful frontman of muse 3


I still remember the first day you showed your feelings for me, Matt. Back in school, when we were twelve.  
We were walking home, just the two of us.  
You suggested we stop and sit on the bridge. You didn't need to; we always stopped there anyway. But you were always polite enough to ask, just in case I didn't want to.  
We sat together, legs swinging above the river.  
We didn't speak for a while; we didn't need to.  
It amazed me then, and it amazes me now, just how much you can say without making a single sound.  
You took my hand. I looked at you, but you were looking down, at the water. It wasn't anything specifically special; you'd held my hand before.  
You didn't say anything, so I looked down as well.  
Your hand was warm, and you held mine tightly. I liked the feeling, it made me feel safe. I squeezed your fingers slightly, and you responded.  
Out of the blue, you began to ramble about how you were annoyed that there had been no snow this year, and slowly we eased into one of our normal conversations.  
I soon forgot the fact that you were holding my hand, because you'd been doing so for so long.  
As our conversation became more and more animated, we felt the need for both hands to describe what we were saying. I remember you let go first, but I didn't mind because it had been a silent, yet mutual agreement. It was the practical thing to do, so it was done.  
But Matt - and this is going to sound stupid because the temperature on that day must've been below freezing - but it felt like all the way home my hand stayed warm.  
That night you were bored, as you often were, so you called for me.  
My mum ended up inviting you in, because we'd apparently "catch our death of cold" if we went out at this time of night.  
I remember you educating her on how you don't actually catch cold from being cold, because it's a virus.  
I also remember that later on your explanation earnt you one less spoonful of icecream than you might have liked.  
We ended up in my bedroom around 7pm, and you were fiddling around with the christmas lights in my window.  
I can't remember exactly what I was doing at the time, but I was on my bed, focused on something else.  
You came up behind me and made me jump.  
You calmed me down, and sat next to me.  
I could see you were about to embark on something serious, so I didn't interrupt.  
You said my name, then seemed to get stuck on what you wanted to say next.  
I prompted you many times, but you still couldn't find the right words, or the right way to say them, so you passed it off with a simple 'never mind'.

Two years later we started our GCSE's. With all the homework and revision you were to be found at my house (and I at yours) more and more often.  
I remember at tea one night, around christmas time, you were sat opposite me at the table, with the rest of my family surrounding us.  
My Dad was being excruciatingly embarrassing, and you kept giving me 'looks', until I couldn't help but burst out laughing.  
My Dad was less than pleased, and you had a smug grin on your face.  
I think I paid you back with a kick under the table.  
Either that or I stole your mince pie.  
When we were once again shut in my bedroom upstairs, you sat me down on my bed and told me you had something serious to say.  
I had a fit of laughter at that statement- I still have no idea why. I think I was probably just in a very hyper mood after eating two mince pies. But it put you off and the moment was lost.  
I felt guilty and tried to ease it out of you but you kept putting it off and putting it off until I left it, with various murmurs that you were a 'stubborn git.'

It got more and more obvious from there on though, Matt. I was guessing what all these 'serious chats' were about.  
But I had no way of being sure, so I didn't try and switch positions- confess _my_ love for _you_ or anything like that.  
At the most awkward age of fifteen you tried again, this time in school. I was surprised, because we were eating lunch, surrounded by people, and I'd have thought you'd feel more comfortable without the risk of nosy kids butting in.  
I laughed so hard when you told me later on you were just 'trying out a different scenario' to see if it would be any easier.  
Turns out it wasn't, because you once again gave up.  
Later on in that week we were walking home from school again.  
It was a Friday, so we both had more bags and folders than we normally would.  
You suggested we stop at the bridge.  
I teased you about how you always ask when we always do it anyway.  
You shrugged it off with a "just to be on the safe side..."  
I've always loved how awkward you are.  
We sat, side by side, legs swinging over the river.  
It was spring, and the whole place was green, and fresh with life.  
You commented quietly on how beautiful it was.  
I agreed, glad you were in a relaxed mood, and not hyper like you sometimes were. I was tired.  
I glanced around, taking in the scenery that has always been so beautiful around that bridge.  
You jumped down and walked right up to the water's edge. I watched you, keeping a third eye on our bags.  
You seemed to be reading my mind, for you suggested I bring the bags over and join you by the river.  
I did so, and we were suddenly isolated from the rest of the world in that hidey-hole next to the river.  
We both knew no-one could see us unless they poked their heads right over the side of the bridge.  
Everything seemed much quieter, and even more peaceful than before.  
You spoke. "I need to tell you something."  
I replied. "What, again?"  
You looked at me, slightly offended.  
I smiled.  
"Matt, I've been waiting for three years for you to 'tell me something'." I said, when you didn't offer a reply.  
I watched you as the meaning of what I'd said washed over your mind.  
"Really?" You were, of course, being careful. You didn't want to take the chance because of the fear that you'd got the wrong idea.  
I'd taken that chance a year and a half before then, Matt.  
"Yes." I stood next to you, leaning against the side of the bridge where it sloped down to join the path. "Please, will you actually say it this time?" I prompted, on my way to getting impatient. You may smirk at that now, but you know I've always been an impatient person, especially as a teenager.  
You took your time to answer, and it still wasn't what I wanted to hear.  
"C-can you say it?" You looked at me, extremely unsure.  
I rolled my eyes. "Don't you want to?"  
You paused. "Are you sure?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Can you please stop answering my questions with questions of your own, it's getting annoying." You turned away from me, but a smile graced your lips.  
"Don't you dare change the subject." I wasn't letting it go this time.  
You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the bridge, a picture I found utterly stunning in the spring sunshine.  
After a minute or two your eyes opened and your head rolled around to look at me.  
Your eyes searched mine before you once again gave up, and faced away from me again.

You call yourself a perfectionist, and I agree. You always manage to get everything finished and perfect.  
But there's always an exception.  
But not everyone's a clockwork machine.  
But Matt, telling me you loved me was, and still is, the only thing you've ever given up on.

I reached out and stroked your cheek softly with my first and second fingers on my right hand.  
You sighed, and leaned in to my touch.  
Leaned in to my touch so much so, that very soon your lips came in contact with my fingers.  
You opened your eyes and very purposefully kissed my knuckles.  
Your gaze into my eyes never broke through those few seconds that seemed to last a lifetime.  
You, being you, found the need to apologize for your action. You bit your lip and looked extremely worried. You were about to say something but I shook my head.  
I let my fingers trail further 'round your face until I was holding your cheek in my hand. My thumb rested just below your left eye and when you blinked your eyelashes brushed the tip.  
A look of resignation appeared on your face as I silently prompted you with my expression. It was happy resignation, though.  
You slowly smiled and looked away, once again biting your lip.  
I counted the number of heartbeats it took for you to say it from then on.  
1... You glanced up at me, and back down again.  
2, 3, 4... You sighed, and your eyes closed. There was some serious thinking going on behind those delicate lids.  
5, 6, 7, 8, 9... My heart sped up significantly as your eyes opened and you swallowed. You seemed to be preparing yourself.  
10, 11... Why are you so shy, Matt? Three simple words were all I needed.  
12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21... My heart raced along as you finally whispered my name. I barely stuttered out a "Y-yes?"  
22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27... "I..."  
28, 29, 30, 31... You tried again. "I... lo..."  
32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 39andahalf...  
"Hannah, I love you."

And... well. You know what happened from there.


End file.
